


The Ghosts Of Mrs Dumbledore

by HaraJorja



Series: No Ordinary Heart [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-05 22:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20496620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaraJorja/pseuds/HaraJorja
Summary: Minerva McGonagall is fearless, determined and strong, but, sometimes, she cannot live up to the expectations of others. Beneath the strength, the bravery and the determination lies a woman, a woman as ordinary as any other who feels love and pain and loss just as any other.The events of her life often come back to haunt her and she hides her burdens well. However, when those closest to her begin to notice the subtle changes and start to worry about her, they are pushed away. Can they help Minerva? Can they be the pillars of strength that she usually is to them?Can the great love of her life, the man who broke her heart, save Minerva from a life of isolation and all the while keep her at arms length, as he must?Part of the 'No Ordinary Heart' series.





	1. A Weasley Problem

Arthur Weasley was a good man. He knew and those around him knew it. Oh, he was possessed of the same very human flaws as everybody else; a little pride, a little temper, a little selfishness, a little despair; but as a whole, he was kind, thoughtful and completely devoted to his wife and, so far, five sons. A conscientious worker, he enjoyed his job immensely and found it very interesting but that didn't stop a smile slipping across his face at five o'clock, when he shoved his things into a worn briefcase and made his away home. 

Home, of course, was the Burrow. A wonky, mismatched structure which grew with each new addition to his large family. Slanted, crooked and a little dishevelled, it was none the less beautiful, for it was his own. Love he never knew he'd deserved sat within its walls and he knew that he wouldn't give it up for a palace. Its overstuffed rooms and creaky floorboards brought a warmth to his heart and a spring to his step as he made his way down the garden path one fine summers evening. The sun was falling behind the hill, the birds chirped around him and from the open windows came the excited clattering of family life - the bubbling voices of the children, the patient voice of his wife, the clinking of dinner plates. For a moment, Arthur could pretend that nothing was amiss, that his world was in peril, that everyday news of another death came. Not since Grindelwald had there been such a threat to his world, a terror which paralysed the entire community. This was his favourite time of day, to waltz along the path and feel as if he were an average family man, who didn't have to worry about his children being killed or fret about his grieving wife.

For death had touched the Weasley's. Death had come only weeks before and they, well the adults at least, were still reeling from it.

Inside the long, narrow kitchen, Molly was wiping the grinning faces of the twins. As Arthur entered, the three elder boys clambered about him, smiling and chattering away. He kissed the top of their red heads and leaned over them to peck his wife on the cheek. Molly sternly dispersed the children and they hurried to their seats, leaving Arthur able to place his suitcase at the bottom of the stairs. He glanced into the sitting room, habit causing him to expect to see Minerva seated in the small armchair, and shook his head at its emptiness. Minerva had left the Burrow weeks before and Arthur missed her. He knew that Molly did too. 

Molly was quiet at dinner and barely ate a thing. She pushed her food around her plate absently, her round face pale and pursed. She smiled when one of her sons spoke to her, as she always did, but it was a sad smile, one that didn't reach her bright blue eyes. She looked tired, drained and despondent and Arthur furrowed his red brow with worry. He knew that Molly had a lot on her mind, she was grieving and fretting all at once, but she hardly said a thing to Arthur about it, no doubt because she didn't want to burden him. But he wanted to be burdened. He wanted to share the weight of her troubles. She was such a small thing, though very capable, and he was worried that she might snap. 

When dinner was finished, Arthur bathed and put the boys to bed whilst Molly tidied up after them. Although happy enough, he knew that his sons could tell that their mother was not her usual self. Bill and Charlie knew that it was because of Eleanor and William but they were young enough to think that Molly's sadness should have gone by now. To them, a week seemed like a lifetime and it had been at least three since Molly had dressed in black and gone to the funeral. They couldn't understand that grief was often life-lasting, that it could take months, or even years, for it to settle down into something more manageable. 

Downstairs, Arthur found Molly seated in Minerva's seat, her eyes closed. Her little hands gripped the arms and she sighed. 

"I'm missing her too," Arthur admitted softly. "She still terrifies me, but I've grown used to her being a part of this house. There is a charm about her and she brought it with her." 

"Yes," Molly nodded. She looked at the floor, rubbed her forehead and burst into tears. "I wish she'd stayed. I think about her, all alone, and I just hate it. She said she didn't want to frighten the boys but, she wouldn't have, Arthur! I could have helped her." 

Perching on the arm next to her, Arthur put his arm around her. "I know, I know. We both tried to convince her to stay but you know her. Once she's made up her mind..." 

"But she doesn't know her own mind! How can she, when Eleanor has only been dead three weeks?" 

"What do you need me to do?" He asked, his blue eyes wide and expectant. He wanted Molly to tell him to do something, to say something that would help her. It was bad enough that Molly had lost two, beloved cousins so soon after her elder brothers, but it was made worse by the fact that she couldn't mourn her losses. Instead, she fretted about Minerva, she was always on Molly's mind and Arthur wasn't sure how much longer Molly would be able to cope with it all. Everybody had a breaking point, even his brilliant wife, and Arthur didn't want Molly to suffer the pain of reaching it. 

She reached up for his hand and kissed it. "Nothing," she smiled gratefully. "There is nothing you can do. Minerva is a grown woman who can do as she pleases. But that doesn't mean that I can't worry about her." 

Tears dried, Molly said nothing more about it for the rest of the evening. That night, as Arthur lay wide awake in the darkness, he couldn't stop thinking about Minerva, or Molly. His mind hadn't been so overwrought since he'd asked Molly to marry him. His stomach fluttered and his heart pounded as his mind filled with Molly. Poor Molly. He felt so helpless, so useless. Molly managed to run a home, look after five restless sons and tend after her husband and all the while, she was filled with every feeling of doubt, loss, confusion and anger that any person had ever felt. Arthur wouldn't have been able to do it. Why, he could hardly function now and he was only worrying about two people! How marvellous Molly was - he was reminded of that everyday, though he made sure to never forget it. 

There must be a way to help her, he was sure. It wasn't hopeless. There was something that Arthur could do which would help both Molly and Minerva, if only he could think of it! If only he were a natural problem solver, much like Minerva was! She always seemed to have the answer. She didn't need time to think things through, she didn't need time to come up with a plan. Why, she would simply bark her orders and face the problem head on...

That was it! Arthur bolted up and swung his legs out of bed onto the cold floor. He was going to face his problem head on. Even as he made up his mind he felt a tingle of nerves in his stomach but as he frantically pulled on his socks and trousers he shook his nerves away. Molly was more important that fear. It was late he knew, but Minerva had always been late to bed and early to rise. Mind made up, Arthur dressed quickly and crept silently from the room. Thankfully Molly didn't stir and he was able to leave the house without causing any alarm.

*

Minerva's cottage was most certainly not a cottage. The word conjured images of quaint thatched roofs, small gardens filed with colourful wildflowers; Minerva's home was nothing of the sort. The only resemblance it had was that it sat in the middle of a meadow, surrounded by nothing but hills and open sky. It was a great ugly building; two storey with pointed attic windows glaring down ominously. High, grey stone walls circled the house like two crooked arms ready to ensnare the next victim. It was a dark house, forlorn and threatening and Arthur had only been here once, to carry Minerva's things for her when she left the Burrow. He had been shocked by it; Molly had mentioned a forgotten cottage hidden in the hills but he hadn't been expecting such a monstrosity. It didn't suit Minerva at all, with her graceful lines and steely manner; she could be cold, she could be mean but she wasn't foreboding as her house was. Glancing up at it, the front flanked by huge silver moon, Arthur wondered once again why Minerva had this house. It wasn't a home - Hogwarts was her home - but she was too stubborn to admit it. 

It was a panic stricken woman who pulled open the front door. Minerva's small mouth was wrangled with fright and her green eyes bulged from their sockets. Her skin was grey, her eyes surrounded by black circles and her dark hair, though piled neatly on top of her head, was greyer at the edges than it had been the last time Arthur saw her. She wore a long black robe around her thin frame, her collar bone sticking out alarmingly through the rounded collar. Her hollow cheeks made her look as if she was dancing with death and behind her, Arthur saw no lights flickering in any of the rooms. This ghostly figure sat in the cold and the dark, as away from life as she could get. 

"Arthur! What is it? What's happened?" Minerva choked. "Don't dither, just tell me!"

He smiled warmly. "Nothing has happened," he said. "I came to check up on you." 

She raised a dark brow, her face stern. "What?" She quipped. "Why should you do that in the middle of the night?"

"For Molly," Arthur said simply. 

"Really, that is ridiculous," Minerva grumbled, moving to the side to let Arthur pass. "I spoke to her yesterday morning. I do not need a minder, Arthur." 

"I know, I know. Look, I came to put Molly's mind at ease. Surely that's okay with you?" 

Minerva shrugged elegantly and scoffed. "Very well. Now, as you can see, I am fine and was just readying for bed when you rang the bell. Good night-"

"If you were readying for bed then why can I see the distant glow of a fire down the hallway?"

"Perhaps I shouldn't have invited you in," Minerva shook her head. "You can't see the light from the front door." 

"No, you cannot," Arthur said cheerily, making his way along the dark corridor. 

"I didn't say to make yourself at home!" She called after him. 

He ignored her, with more confidence than he felt. Minerva could still send shivers of fear through him; sometimes it was all too easy to forget that he was no longer and student and she, no longer his professor. In fact, she was family now, in a very odd and complicated way, but still, her bark and pursed expression was enough to make Arthur quake in her boots. He loved her because Molly did but still, he feared her. 

Blindly, he made his way through the darkness and after passing underneath a couple of archways found the large, narrow sitting room that Minerva had been hiding in. It was old and musty, the dark purple curtains were drawn across three, large windows and the matching wallpaper was peeling in places. The wood floor was scraped and tarnished with a thick, frayed rug covering the centre of it. Old-fashioned mahogany furniture filled the room; several armchairs and a low loveseat, which was pushed in front of the fire, all matched. Portraits hung on the walls, each one covered with a thick black cloth. The small coffee table before the loveseat was littered with papers, photographs and, Arthur noticed, a half-empty bottle of muggle whiskey and a large tumbler. 

It was a sad room. Bereft and without love. It might have been grand years ago but Arthur still thought that his own pokey, overstuffed living room was better than this. 

"Take a seat, if you insist on staying," Minerva barked. "I'm sorry for the mess, I wasn't expecting visitors. Nor did I want any." 

He did as instructed, biting his lip and tapping his fingers together nervously. 

"Molly has been so worried about you," he said. "So preoccupied and-"

"She should be preoccupied with her boys," Minerva hissed. "I'm not worth her time. Nobody should worry about anything but their children. That is what being a mother is-" She choked on her words and her green eyes glassed over. She stared into the fire, her thin mouth trembling. 

"Nobody expects you to hide yourself away," Arthur whispered. "You should be around those who want to help you-"

"No!" She cried. "This is what I have to do. This, what you see now, is a good image of me. You look at me as if I might break, as if you are shocked by how deathly ill I look but let me tell you, this is good. When I really do fall apart, which I do, it's frightening. Truly terrifying. You are a father, Arthur, you know what it is to want to protect your children. I am protecting your wife and sons from myself." 

"Molly doesn't see it like that." 

"She would if I sent one of her boys into a fit of wailing terror. It isn't safe to be around me-"

"What do you mean?" 

"Nothing," she shock her head. "Nothing." 

"Would you consider coming back to the Burrow with me?"

"No."

"Minerva, be reasonable. You can't like it here? It's so dark and miserable. It cannot be helping you-"

"Eleanor was born here," Minerva whispered. She sank into the seat next to him. 

"Oh," Arthur said softly. "I didn't know that. I assumed that she was born in-"

"Hogwarts? No. She might have been, if not for Albus and I. She was born here, in the guest bedroom upstairs. I don't like it here anymore than you do - it was my mother's and her mother's before that. I inherited it when she died. I hardly came here but when Albus and I separated the first time, I had nowhere to go but here. That's why Eleanor was born here. And that is why I'm here. My life was born in this house. She breathed her first beneath this roof."

"Isn't it torturing yourself?" He asked tentatively. "To bury yourself up here with nothing but your memories?" 

"You think that I should forget her?" Minerva snapped. "You think that because she is buried now I should move on? Go back to my normal self and forget that I ever had a daughter? Forget that I didn't protect her?" 

"No, of course not, that isn't what I meant-"

"Why can't you all just leave me alone?"

"Because we care-"

"No! I don't want to hear it," Minerva shrieked. "Tell Molly I am fine. Tell her to worry about her children instead, for who knows what time they have left-"

"Now, see here," Arthur stood, his face creased in rage. "My sons are safe. There is no need to insinuate that they might die, I don't want hear-"

She jumped to her feet. Her eyes were blazing and her face only inches from his as she said: "If you don't want to hear the truth then get out! I didn't ask you here! If you and Molly cannot face up to the truth that everybody dies, that our children will all die before this over-"

"Minerva! Stop!" 

"You're a fool, Arthur Weasley. I couldn't protect Eleanor, hell, Albus couldn't and he's the greatest one of us all! What chance do you and Molly have? Riddle will come for them, he'll torture those little boys until they cry for death! You can't do anything about it. The world is run by bastards and all we can do is sit here and let them. You'll bury your children, just as I have buried mine-"

He didn't know if it was fear that drove him to shove her to the ground but he grabbed a hold of her thin shoulders and shoved her harshly. She bounced against the wall and tumbled to the ground. He gave her one scornful glance before he stepped over her and stormed from the house. 

Arthur Weasley was a good man. 

Usually. 


	2. The Odd Dumbledore's

Home was no longer home. The warmth had gone, the softness, the laughter. 

Losing a son was bad enough but feeling like a stranger in her own home, when all she wanted was the comfort of her house, was nearly too much for Poppy Pomfrey Dumbledore to bear. This tiny, cosy house was Poppy's masterpiece. She'd lovingly restored it from a piles of crumbling stones to a strong, beautiful house. She filled it with comfortable furniture, fashionable upholstery and love. Love had pervaded its walls since the moment Aberforth had theatrically and gruffly carried her through the door and nearly dropped her at the foot of the stairs. Even now, so many decades later, Poppy could still hear their laughter echoing through the hallway as Aberforth grumbled about his back and Poppy mocked him for his old age. That was the moment when their life as a family of Dumbledore's had begun. She was a wife, Aberforth a husband and their child, unexpected and complicated, grew inside her. 

Now, her son was dead. Her husband was withdrawn. Her house was empty. 

Except, it was not empty. No, crammed into the small rooms and tiny bedrooms was four people, all technically related but they did not even remotely resemble the family who had once lived here. Even Poppy and Aberforth, the only constant that remained beneath the slanting roof, were not the same. Poppy was overwrought, strained and bewildered whilst her husband was melancholy, quiet and elusive. Poppy was sure that he was falling apart but he wouldn't let her in, wouldn't share his grief with her, and so there was nothing she could do. If she tried to get close to him he pushed her away and she hadn't the energy to keep trying. She was grieving too. 

The two remaining bedrooms were occupied by Priscilla and Albus each. Priscilla had refused to go home since the funeral; she pottered about the house, ready to be at the side of the person who called her next. Sometimes it was Poppy, rarely it was Aberforth and once it had been Albus. What Priscilla really wanted was for Minerva to call for her and so she waited. She wasn't a particularly patient woman but, knowing Minerva as she did, she knew that there would be no pushing her. Priscilla could command everybody around her - except Minerva, who most certainly had a mind of her own. 

And that left Albus. 

At first, he'd buried himself up in the castle and put his mind to the running of the school, as he always did. Students and staff alike noticed a change in him; gone was the merry glint in his blue eyes and the warm smile, replaced with an empty, absent look and a slither of temper that most of the castle hadn't ever seen. Until the summer term came to an end, Albus continued at his task and, truth be told, Poppy didn't think that he might not want to spend the summer alone. Since Minerva was gone and nobody but Molly heard anything from her, Poppy checked in on Albus daily. They were quick, fleeting visits during which neither of them said a lot. They communicated through shrugs and far-off looks and sad smiles but Poppy didn't miss one visit. She couldn't. She still felt the guilt of ruining his life with her own bitterness and she couldn't leave him to suffer the loss of his daughter alone. 

Summer term had been over for four days when Albus turned up at Poppy's door, seemingly for a friendly visit but Poppy had a feeling that he came because he didn't want to be alone. So, after serving him copious amounts of tea and half a dozen cream stuffed pastries, Poppy asked if Albus wanted to stay. He answered yes quicker than she expected and now, two weeks later, Albus was still here. 

Aberforth, of course, was not very happy with Poppy's decision. In fact, he flew off into a grief fulled rage. It was enough that Aberforth despised his brother but added to that the unspoken pain he felt at William's death, he was so annoyed that he didn't speak to Poppy for days. It hurt, having her husband ignore her when they should have been helping each other, but she couldn't change her mind and order Albus out - it just wanted right. 

Now, Aberforth was calmer, though he was still sulking. Poppy suspected that he was actually grateful for Albus's presence - it meant that Aberforth could concentrate on another feeling other than his grief. An odd routine settled within the house and the peculiar family became used to each other. Poppy and Priscilla fussed around the two brothers in an attempt to rouse them from their stupor. Poppy fussed with a calm, soft voice, hiding her heartbreak and pain from the men whom seemed so fragile. Poppy was able to remained as composed as possible around her husband and brother-in-law. That didn't mean to say that she didn't lose composure; no, she most certainly did but she hurried away and locked herself in the nearest closet, where she would cry into a towel or bedsheet. Once the wave of pain passed, she wiped her eyes, straightened her red hair and continued on as she was. 

Priscilla, however, took a very different approach, especially with Albus. She was placating enough with Aberforth, though she did tut and shake her head at him every now and then but with Albus, she barked. She barked and barked relentlessly. Her tone sharp, her face lined with impatience. Sometimes she was quiet but her expression, raised brows and pursed mouth, was enough to tell everybody that she was reluctantly biting her tongue. It wasn't because she didn't care about Albus; it wasn't because she wasn't sympathetic to his plight. No, it was because she was near demented with worry for Minerva, for Albus had the power to ease some of Minerva's suffering and he wouldn't. He could help himself by doing it but he wouldn't. 

"You two look miserable," Priscilla observed sternly as she ladled a spoon of gravy over Albus's dinner. 

Aberforth scoffed. "Of course I'm bloody miserable, woman!" 

"Like peas in a pod," Priscilla continued, ignoring Aberforth. 

"They are related, Mother," Poppy snapped. "What is your point?" 

"Nothing, I was merely observing," Priscilla sat down opposite Poppy, smiling sweetly. 

"No, you always say something for a reason. Just get it over with so that we can enjoy our dinner in peace," Poppy said. 

"I was just saying that the two Dumbledore brothers look terribly miserable. Now, I can understand why - aren't we all terribly miserable? - but at least Aberforth is clever enough to cling to the person that can help him-"

Poppy threw her fork down. "For God sake, Mother. Don't bring that up again-"

"I didn't say anything!" Priscilla exclaimed innocently. 

"You've said enough," her daughter narrowed her eyes at her. "Please."

Poppy's blue eyes darted towards Albus, who sat at the bottom of the table. He was plain faced, his mouth straight. He didn't seem as if he was perturbed by Priscilla's comments but as Poppy studied his eyes, which were steely and determined, she knew that her mother's words had struck a cord, yet again. Any mention of Minerva sent Albus into this unfathomable state, a state of self-loathing and yearning, and she resented her mother for bringing it up now, over and over again, when Albus was already strained from the loss of his daughter. In the past, Poppy wouldn't of cared but wasn't it her own mother who made Poppy see the error of her ways? Poppy knew that there was nothing she could do which would right her wrongs but she could at least try to help those who she'd hurt. Her own grief and bewilderment over the loss of her son was nearly too much to bear but somehow, she made sure that she had enough strength in her to give Albus and Minerva what she could. 

At the moment, Albus was her priority. Minerva had shut everyone out and Poppy knew her too well to bother trying with her. Minerva needed time. Minerva needed to mourn in her own way before she would accept any outside involvement. Of course, it had been longer than usual. Poppy certainly didn't expect Minerva to be through her grief yet but she had thought that Minerva would have come to her by now, or asked for her. They were two mother's, mourning their dead children, but they hadn't been together since the funeral. Then, Minerva had let Poppy see a small streak of what she was feeling but since then, everything had been closed off. Poppy might have worried more but she hadn't the capacity. What with Aberforth, her mother and now Albus, Poppy had enough to do, enough people to think about. The guilt and shame she felt at having a hand in tearing Minerva and Albus apart was enough to spur her on and she devoted all she could to Albus. He hadn't asked her for anything and she doubted that he ever would, but apparently, her years of knowing him had rubbed off on her. She might not have been able to read him as well as Minerva could or understand him as well as Aberforth did but she was surprised to find that she could read him a little. 

Perhaps, during the summers spent together as a large, unconventional family, or the Christmases spent at Priscilla's, Poppy had learned about the man she hated at the time. At the time, she thought him to be only a selfish, cruel and manipulative man and, although he may have some of these traits, she had come to realise that he was just as man, as any other. He was as weak, childlike and sensitive as most men denied to be and Poppy couldn't help but want to do everything for him. All of their worlds had shattered but Albus, just like Minerva, had lost everything. Poppy could take strength in her love for Aberforth and his for her. She could cry into his arms and ask him to hold her up when she couldn't take anymore. Albus couldn't do that. Minerva couldn't do that. The two people who should have been grieving together couldn't and it was all Poppy's fault. 

"Has anyone heard from, Minerva?" Aberforth asked. 

"No," Poppy shook her head sadly. "Molly has a couple of times but not for a week or so." 

Albus's hanging head snapped up. "She hasn't even spoken to Molly?" His voice was full of concern. "She always contacts Molly. You know that."

"Yes, I know but she's going through a terrible time-"

"We all are!" Albus cried. "And she is alone. What if something has happened to her?"

"We would have heard by now," Priscilla said. 

"Can't you go to her, Poppy?" Albus asked. "Just to see-"

"I don't think I can," Poppy choked. "She might not want me there. She can be rather cruel when she's in pain and I don't think that I could suffer it..."

"But you're her friend!" His pleadings were turning to orders as his tone became harsher. "You cannot simply leave her to rot-"

"Please, Albus," tears came to Poppy's eyes. "If I thought that she wanted me, I would be there in a heartbeat. But I am not strong enough to endure the onslaught-"

"How can you be so selfish?" Albus spat. 

Aberforth jumped to his feet, pounding his fist onto the wooden tabletop. The plates rose from the force of it and the cutlery clattered to the floor. "Shut your stupid mouth!" He bellowed. "If you are so concerned about Minerva's welfare then perhaps you get off your sorry arse and make things right. Stop putting your own shame onto my wife!" 

Poppy squeezed his arm gently. "Aberforth, it's fine-"

"No. It isn't. It's bad enough that Minerva feels as if she had to hide herself away because she can't deal with the pain of losing Eleanor and being apart from Albus. It's bad enough that her daughter is dead and she can't do anything about it. But Albus, who sits here so sad and so judgemental, won't admit that he could help that poor girl. If he got off his high horse and admitted that this self-sacrifice bollocks is only to make himself feel as if he is worth something, then he might be able to do the decent thing and be there for his wife!"

"She isn't my wife," Albus countered quietly. 

"Oh, really? Finally filed for that divorce have you?" Aberforth jeered. His brother didn't reply. "No, I didn't think so. Because you still want her attached to you, in case you need it one day."

"She's never asked me-"

"And she won't. Because she still hopes that you might go back to her."

Poppy stood up. "I think that we are getting off topic. Let's just-"

"And he gets away with it again," Aberforth sneered. "I can't sit here," and he stormed from the room. 

As Poppy and Priscilla began to clear away, Albus mumbled: "As children, all of our dinners ended up in a fight. It's just the Dumbledore way."


	3. Poppy's Break

"Well, Arthur, I simply refuse to have this baby until you tell me what has got you into such a state these past few days," Molly declared. 

She stood by the fireplace, her head titled to the side, her red brows raised. Her little pink mouth was pursed and she would have resembled a delicate, sweet child if not for the large bump which protruded from her stomach. She was approaching her due date and in a few short weeks she and Arthur would be parents to six children. Six children. Sometimes, when she thought about it, she wondered just why they had put themselves under such strain. Money, time and patience was tight in the Burrow and another child wasn't going to help that. Oh, she loved her children completely, of course, and would never regret having a sixth but never before had she looked to the birth of her child with such trepidation. 

When Bill was born, the only complication had been his name. At the time, Tom Riddle was starting to spiral out of control but, despite the fear of the unknown, Molly didn't have cause to doubt her decision to bring a child into the world. Charlie, Percy, even the twins (which was enough of a shock!) all came during the turbulent, fearful times but still, there was no doubt. No, even when learning the news that Molly was to have another child, she didn't doubt her choices. No, not even when Eleanor and William were killed, or when Eleanor's child was taken away and hidden, or when Minerva left them - no, it was not until Arthur suddenly became despondent and absent not three days before did Molly start to doubt it all. 

Without warning, Arthur rose one morning and seemed like a stranger. He was pale, wide-eyed and silent. He mumbled to her, nodded his head but Molly could tell that he wasn't present, that he wasn't a part of the moment. All of a sudden, Molly felt the claws of dread. She couldn't help but feel that Arthur was regretting their decision to have another child; she couldn't help but feel that he was worrying about it, chewing himself up about it. She was worried that he might not bond with the child because of it. She was also worried that he would remain in his absent state when the baby was born and Molly would have to do everything herself. Not just look after the baby and its brothers but keep the threads of life together - a life lived in danger. Besides, she still was not completely herself. Nightmares haunted her dreams, anxiety attacks stopped her dead at least three times a day and her heart was so sore that sometimes she felt as if it might give up and explode in her chest. She was still mourning, still lost in a spiral of grief and she was terrified that without Arthur, she wouldn't be able to make it through. 

"Nothing is wrong with me. I'm fine," Arthur said, not looking away from his paper. 

Wandlessly, silently, the newspaper lifted from Arthur's hands, screwed up in the air and caught on fire, the ashes falling at his feet.

Arthur sighed. "That was unhelpful." 

"I learned a few tricks from my very clever aunt," Molly smiled sarcastically. "Now that I have your undivided attention-"

"I've told you, there is nothing the matter!" Arthur exclaimed impatiently. 

"Oh, you can't expect me to believe that. And if you do, you should at least try a little harder to convince me." 

"Can you leave it? Can you-"

"No, I cannot," Molly said. "Please. I'm scared, Arthur. You are scaring me. Please don't make me do this alone."

"Alone?" Arthur furrowed his brow. "I'm not going anywhere."

She shook her head. "You don't have to be away to be absent."

Arthur closed his eyes. "You're right. You're always right. I've tried to-" He was interrupted by a knock on the front door. "Who is that?" 

"The Dumbledore's," Molly said. "We planned this last week, remember? I think Aunt Priscilla is with them. And Albus, of course."

"Albus?" Arthur paled. 

"Yes, Albus! For God sake, Arthur, what is wrong with you? I'm going to get the boys ready, would you open the door? Do you think you can manage that?" 

Arthur hadn't expected to see Albus. In fact, the thought of facing him had never crossed Arthur's mind. 

All that did fill Arthur's mind was the image of Minerva crumpled to the floor. Or the memory of stepping over her and leaving her there. At the time, he'd been filled with such rage, such anger and hatred that he couldn't care less about leaving her on the floor. Even when he went to bed that night, he didn't feel guilty. Her words rang in his ears; her spiteful words about his sons, their precious lives and he just couldn't feel bad. But, when he awoke the next morning, Arthur didn't open his eyes before the guilt set in. The shame of his actions. How could he have done such a thing? How could he have treated Minerva so poorly? He'd never done anything of the sort and now, when his wife's beloved aunt was barely living through the very worst days of her life, Arthur had snapped. He'd snapped in the very worst way that he could and the guilt was eating away at him. He couldn't think of anything else but what he'd done. He couldn't consider that he was to be a father again in a few short weeks, he couldn't worry about how Molly felt. All he could think about was Minerva, and whether she'd gotten back up off of the floor. 

And now, Albus was here. What would he think if he knew about Arthur's treatment of his estranged wife? What would he say? What would he do? Originally, Arthur had been worried about Molly's reaction, but now, as he sat at his dining table with the Dumbledore's, he was absolutely terrified of Albus's. 

"What's bothering you, Arthur?" Priscilla, who could always be relied upon to speak her mind, asked. "Getting worried about the new arrival?" 

Arthur shook his head. "No. Molly and I are excited, aren't we, dear?" 

"I thought we were," Molly remarked. "But recently I'm not so sure. You are right, Aunt Pris, there is something bothering Arthur, though he won't tell me." 

"Spit it out, man," Priscilla barked. "It can't be as bad as all that. Don't we know what 'all that' is by now?" 

"I'm fine. I'm just pre-occupied, that's all."

"With what?" Aberforth asked. "Anything interesting happening at work?"

Arthur smiled gratefully at him. Aberforth could always be counted upon to steer the conversation away from a awkward subject. As somebody who didn't like to be questioned, Aberforth was very good at it. 

"Actually, today we found a -"

"Arthur!" Molly snapped. "Don't change the subject."

"That goes for you too," Poppy shot her husband a warning look. 

Arthur sighed. Five pairs of eyes were glued to him and he knew that he didn't stand a chance at batting them away. He was going to have to come clean and they would all go for his throat, he was sure. Reluctantly, he sent the boys to bed and upon hearing them each shut their bedroom doors, he admitted quietly: "I went to see Minerva." 

"You did?" Molly cried. "When? Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Three days ago. It was the evening when you were so upset, Molly, well, more upset than usual. I knew how worried you were that you hadn't heard anything so I went to see her that night, after you'd gone to bed."

Mouths opened, each ready to assault him with questions but it was Albus who got there first. 

"How is she?" He asked urgently. "What did she say? Why didn't she come back with you?" 

"To be honest, she was worse than I thought. In the end, I did little to help her. She was so sad, so despondent and I think, a little drunk. She said some awful things-"

"See?" Poppy arched a brow at Albus. "I told you that she is cruel when she's hurting. She always has been." 

"What did she say to you?" Molly asked softly. 

"Just - err - I don't want to upset you, Molly-"

"Just spit it out, man!" Priscilla chimed impatiently. "Molly is made of stern enough stuff!" 

"Fine. She said that Molly shouldn't be bothering with her but the boys instead. She said that they need protecting, although, they will eventually die anyway because that is the world we live in. She said such harsh things about the boys dying, about them being...tortured and harmed and I lost my temper. I couldn't listen to it but she went on and on. I didn't know that she could be like that. I know that she's strict and formidable and speaks her mind but - it was terrible. I lost my temper, I pushed her out of my way, I needed to get out and she fell to the ground-"

"Because she was drunk," Albus said evenly. "That's why isn't it?" 

Arthur nodded. "I feel awful, I didn't mean-"

Poppy waved her hand. "Don't worry about that, Arthur. I'm sure it was an accident. I know how scathing her tongue can be." 

Albus's face remained still and thoughtful. It didn't cloud with rage as Arthur expected and he sank back in his seat, relieved. 

Molly reached across the table and squeezed Arthur's hand. "Don't feel bad. I'm sorry that she said such things to you. We worry enough about the boys as it is, we don't need the reality of what could happen painted for us. We know the reality, we've seen it. Of course it made you angry. Of course it scared you." 

Smiling warmly at him, Poppy nodded. "As I said, Minerva can be spiteful in her moments of grief. When Albus left her and I tried to comfort her, she told me that I didn't deserve to be happily married, because of my flighty nature when I was young. She tries to be so strong and composed that when she can't control her feelings and can't control the events of her life, she lashes out. It her biggest flaw, we all have them. She doesn't know how to deal with grief, though she's had so much of it. That doesn't excuse her actions but it might help you to understand them." 

"It doesn't help that she's alone," Aberforth said. "She hasn't got anything to do but stew in it." 

"I asked her to come back with me," said Arthur. "But she wouldn't have it." 

"I don't know what to suggest," Priscilla admitted sadly. "I can't begin to fathom what she is going through. No-one but you can, Albus." 

"Poppy and Aberforth have lost their child, also." 

"But they haven't lost Eleanor," she countered pointedly. "Not in the same way that you and Minerva have." 

"What can I do? I can't go to her, it would only cause more pain," Albus said. 

"Uncle Albus, can't you try to love her again?" Molly begged. "Can't you-"

"He doesn't need to try!" Aberforth exclaimed. "For Christ sake, could we stop pretending that Albus left her because of that? It's obvious that he still loves her and if he got over himself he could do something to ease some of Minerva's strife. But I'm wasting my breath. We've already had this conversation, there's no point circling back round. He won't go so one of us will have too." 

"This is ridiculous!" Poppy cried. "I have a son to mourn! I have my own grief! I don't care if it sounds selfish but I can't keep worrying about her when she won't be helped. My son died too. It wasn't just Eleanor and I feel like everybody is forgetting that. Forgetting him! He was just as marvellous and adored as Eleanor Dumbledore was. The world lost two people the morning they were killed. If she won't take our help then why am I still trying? She hasn't said a word to me since the funeral. She hasn't asked how I am or what I'm feeling! I love her but I don't have the strength for her. I don't have the patience for her. William is gone too! My son is dead - I won't ever see him again-" 

She sobbed hysterically into her hands. She'd finally snapped. For weeks she'd felt it coming but pushed it down and down as she tried to be there for everyone else but herself. No longer. For too long Poppy had ignored her own feelings. She spent so much time worrying about everyone else that she hadn't properly thought about William since the funeral. He was always on her mind because her heart was always sore but she hadn't taken the time to sit and think about solely him. She avoided memories because she knew that she would be able to keep herself together if she lost herself in them. But she deserved to be lost. If Minerva had the right to hide away and wallow, then so did Poppy. Poppy wanted to think about her son and feel the loss of him. She wanted to remember him as a little boy, so devoted and full of cheek. She wanted to remember the terrible tantrums and the loving embraces and the laughing - oh, how wonderful William's laugh had been! She wanted to remember all of the little things she'd never know again. She was sick and tired of everything being about Minerva. They were all willing to be there for her but she rebuked them all. That was her choice. Poppy was done trying. 

Aberforth put his arm around Poppy's thin shoulders. She let him pull her gently to him and he buried her face in his chest. She clung onto him, her sobs silent and painful but she couldn't stop. She couldn't let go of him. He seemed to be the only real thing left in her world. She knew that he would be wide eyed and pink-faced at such a public demonstration of affection and she was right. As she lifted her head to look at his face, she couldn't help but smile through her tears; he looked throughly embarrassed with his pink weathered, cheeks and blue eyes darting from one side of the room to another. 

Laughing pitifully, she tapped his chest lightly. "I'm sorry, Aberforth," she smiled. "I would not want to cause you further embarrassment," and she pried herself from him, using the little strength she had left to hold herself up. 

To Poppy's surprise, Aberforth caught a hold of her hands and squeezed them. She furrowed her brows quizzically at him. They had been married for nearly thirty years and never before had he showed her any affection in the presence of others, save for the reluctant, mandatory kiss at the alter. It didn't bother her and it never had. There was something binding about privacy, something sweet and personal, besides, Poppy had no want to display their relationship to the world. She and Minerva were alike in that respect and even now, when it was only family who sat around them, Poppy expected nothing from him. The light squeeze of her hands was enough to make her heart tremble and she looked down at them with tears in her eyes. 

"You are more important than any embarrassment in the world," Aberforth murmured softly. "Here, look at me, girl," he cupped her face and lifted her head, lightly stroking her jaw as he smiled softly at her. "I am not forgetting William. I will never forget him. He is what tied me to you and I'll owe him my whole life for it for the rest of my days. You want your own grief? Then you must have it. You want to lock yourself in a room and scream bloody murder at the walls until you can't breath no more? Then you lock yourself away, Poppy. I won't bother you. You do whatever you need to do to get through this bloody awful, godforsaken mess. Will you let me take you home? And we can forget about Minerva McGonagall until you're good and ready to think about her again." 

"Oh, Aberforth," Poppy smiled through her tears. "I want to go home. Please. Take me home." 


	4. When The Magic Left

Minerva pointed her wand at her hand and narrowed her eyes determinedly. "Accio glass," she said. When nothing happened, she shouted again: "Accio glass!" And yet, the glass which sat on the sideboard across the room did not move. It didn't even shake but a little. "God damn it!" She cried in frustration, throwing her wand to the floor. 

It wasn't the first time she hadn't been able to perform a simple spell. All day she had been trying to cast irrelevant, tedious charms in an attempt to prove to herself that nothing was wrong with her, when in fact, there was something very wrong. No amount of determination, concentration or willing had been able to produce even a sliver of magic and Minerva was scared. In fact, she was terrified. 

At first, it had been as if she couldn't control the magic which coursed through her body. It started after she fled the Burrow and taking up residency in the cottage. Every now and again, when Minerva felt particularly vulnerable with grief or hugely mad with the world, sharp, sudden blasts of magic would explode from her, bouncing on the walls and shattering everything within touching distance. She didn't know when it would happen but when it did, the force of it blasted her across the room. Several times she had been lucky enough to land on something relatively soft but at other times, she hit the walls or wooden tables or sharp doorframes and she felt her bones crack. At first, she was able to repair all of the damage to herself and the room she was in with a simple flick of her wand or a silent incantation but slowly, her ability to do so faded. It started with wandless spells, then wordless before finally, she could not cast any spells with her wand at all. She felt as weak as a newborn and more frustrated than she had in years. 

As if she didn't have enough to content with! As if she hadn't had enough taken from her, now her magic had slipped away? She could hardly believe it - she thought that magic either existed within a person or it didn't. She didn't realise that it could exist and then disappear one day. And what was she without her magic? It defined her, it was as much of a part of her as any limb or facial feature - it was a part of what made her Minerva Dumbledore. How could she do anything without her magic? Magic had never made her lazy, that was true - she supposed that was because of her half-muggle upbringing - but still, she needed it. She depended upon it as she depended on air to breath and water to drink. Was she no longer a witch? How could that be? She had no idea how it happened and she had no idea whether it was permanent or not. 

Albus would know, she knew. Albus would be able to work it out but she couldn't bring herself to ask him. She hadn't the patience to look upon his concerned face, or listen to his thoughtful mutterings or, if Arthur had tattled on her, his lectures. For he would lecture, she knew, despite his having right to lecture the woman he left behind. Albus always thought that he had some God-given right to voice his opinion on every matter, even those which did not concern him, and if he were not listened to, he sulked. For all his great gifts, Albus could be very human and he infuriated her when he puckered his mouth and crossed him arms like a spoiled child. And there would be so many points to his droning condemnation of her! Why was she determined to bury herself within these walls of misery? Why wouldn't she go back to the Burrow? Why was she seeking solace in a bottle? Why hadn't she told him the minute her magic began to feel peculiar? 

Minerva rolled her eyes at the very thought of it. She was a grown woman, damn it, and she should be able to do what she wanted. She didn't want to be at the Burrow because she couldn't stand being surrounded by a happy family - the smiles and never-ceasing joy were too much for her bitter heart. In addition, Molly was due to have her baby soon and Minerva couldn't face a newborn, a new life, a baby, when her own granddaughter was nowhere to be found. She lived in isolation because there was nowhere else for her to go. She couldn't sit around with Aberforth and Poppy, watching their domestic bliss and witnessing how devoted they were to each other. She couldn't grieve with Albus because all the while she would long for him. She was so weak, so overwrought that she was sure that she would beg him to take her back and make a fool of herself in doing so. Her heart was too full of sadness as it was, she didn't need a reminder of her broken marriage. 

And she couldn't tell him about the magic because she was ashamed. She was ashamed that she wasn't strong enough to find it, to conjure that fire in her veins which made her. Vaguely, she wondered if it was the drink which had caused it but, it wasn't the first time she'd taken to the bottle and it hadn't happened then. When Albus left her, nearly ten years ago, her mind began to spiral out of control and in desperation, she drowned it out with drink. Muggle whiskey had a wonderful effect - it made her mind fo to mush, her heavy heart disappear and it sent her into deep, fitful sleep. It helped to while away the hours, it helped her to forget her miserable lot and so, now that the very worst had happened to her, it became her companion again. She'd hope to keep it a secret - she had done so well at hiding it before - but Arthur had arrived unannounced and Minerva knew that he'd seen the bottle on the table. No doubt, he went home and told Molly about it. Molly would be concerned and tell Poppy or Albus. In fact, Minerva was so sure of it that she expected a visit from them at any moment. 

She hoped that they wouldn't come. She didn't want to explain or defend herself. She didn't want their concern. She simply wanted to be left alone as she tried to get her head around her new title; the Childless Mother. 

*

Albus had first felt it several weeks ago. 

A tremor, of such force that he expected to see the signs of it marked on the walls around him, made him stop dead on the spot. It was quick and over as suddenly as it came. Usually, he would have taken more time to think about what it could have been but, he was hurting and he couldn't manage to think about anything else. It happened again a few times after that, the magnitude fizzling out until he felt nothing at all.

And that was worse. 

He knew that it was magic which struck him without warning. He also knew that it was not his own. If it was his own, the repercussions of it would be obvious and, when it stopped, he wouldn't be able to cast any spells at all. No, as soon as he knew that his own magic had not left him, he became concerned. At first he wondered if it was because Eleanor was dead; he wondered if he could feel her magic slipping away but he disproved that theory almost as soon as it entered his head - Eleanor's magic left the earth as soon as she did. There was no way it could remain so long after her death. 

The mysteries of magical blood would never be solve, he knew, although he'd managed to solve some in his time. His own great power meant that he had an inside knowledge of it, as it were, a greater understanding than most. He first became interested in it when he broke with Minerva and she left Hogwarts, all those years ago. Whilst she lived in London and wrote her articles, Albus began to feel a different magic to his own. Every now and then, he would feel it burn beneath his skin and after a lot of research and theories and thought, he came to the conclusion that it was indeed Minerva's magic that he could feel. Hers felt so very different to his; it was almost as powerful as his, which didn't surprise him, but it seemed smoother, sharper and full of fire. He came to know it intimately as he and Minerva spent the years together. It became second nature to him and when Eleanor was born, he felt her magic too; a strange mix of his and Minerva's. 

From what he had learned over the years, Albus knew that it was unusual but not unheard of for witches and wizards to feel another's magic. It was usually felt if a person shared blood with another, just as he and Eleanor did, but his feeling Minerva's was very rare indeed. It wasn't all down to love, for many people fell in love, completely and wholeheartedly. Instead, it was more to do with a person's soul. It seemed that Albus and Minerva had somehow become completely entwined, in heart and soul, and the fact that this was not achieved by dark magic made it even more of a phenomenon. Their's seemed to have happened because they were one; they would always have found each other, they would always have been a part of each other's life even if they hadn't fallen in love, married and begotten a child. As soon as they met, when he was a professor and she a precautious eleven-year old student, their fates had been decided. It wasn't fate that they would fall in love; it wasn't fate that they would part but it was fate that they would become a part of each other, as if they were two halves that made a whole. 

Quickly, he came to realise that it was Minerva's magic which was gone. It was Minerva's magic which had exploded uncontrollably a few times before finally disappearing. He noticed its absence one evening, as he sat with Poppy and Priscilla in the sitting room at the cottage, and when he felt it disappear, he gasped. His teacup tumbled to the floor, smashing as it hit the hardwood. 

"What's the matter?" Priscilla asked. "Albus? What's wrong?" 

"I- I think Minerva might be dead," he whispered dumbly. 

"What?" Poppy cried, horror struck. 

"What do you mean? Albus!" Priscilla hissed. "Don't just gawp at us!"

"I can't feel her anymore. I can't -" He rosed to his feet. "I must go, now!" 

Catching a hold of his arm, Poppy said: "I'll come with you. If something has happened to her-"

"No, it might be dangerous." He shrugged her off and made his way into the night. 

It was the only explanation. If he couldn't feel her magic anymore, then she had to be dead. It was the same with Eleanor - something within him snapped and the next moment, Poppy appeared to tell him that Eleanor was dead. And now, he couldn't feel Minerva. In the split second before he apparated, he thought about a world without Minerva in it and his legs almost caved in. 

Just as with Eleanor, Albus had always expected to die long before her or Minerva. Now that one was gone, he knew that he shouldn't expect anything. Almost blinded by fear, he stumbled his way along the dark path which wound up to the front door. He reluctantly looked up at the grey sky, so very sure that he would see the dark mark hovering above him, and he felt faint with the relief its absence brought. It was not there! She was not dead by Riddle's hand! But, just as he tried to comfort himself with that knowledge, he realised that she must have died another way - by her own hand? Oh, God, it couldn't be! 

He silently unlocked the front door, the charm glowing yellow in the darkness. Stepping into the hallway, his heart lurched to his throat. It was so black, so still it felt as if it had stood empty and forgotten for a hundred years. The walls leaned in towards him and as he walked along the corridor and glanced into the rooms which ran off of if, his heart began to pound harder and harder with dread. Some of the rooms were too dark to make anything out but others, those which were bathed in silver moonlight, were obliterated, smashed to pieces. Walls were crumbled, furniture torn apart, trinkets strewn across the floor, curtains hanging limply on their crooked polls. Albus knew that Minerva was prone to kicking and smashing things when she was in a temper or felt frustrated but she always tidied up after herself. By the time she was finished, there was nothing out of place that might have revealed the damage she'd done. This mess however, was not like Minerva at all. It couldn't be Minerva. 

Slowly, gingerly, he entered one of the rooms - a tiny study - and, with his feet crunching on the debris, he inspected the damage. It was all done with magic, he could tell, for it left a trace. Perhaps the Death Eaters had come after all and Minerva had put up a fight. He ran his hand across the remnants of a wall - Minerva had caused this destruction. Had she been attacked unexpectedly and she had been forced to curse her way out? Or, God forbid, had she not made it out at all and he would soon come across her lifeless body? 

With shaking limbs and trembling breath, Albus continued through the labyrinth of rooms. The silence was overpowering and he tried desperately to feel Minerva, even the slightest, thinnest trace of her magic. Hope slipped away with each step he took, with each moment that passed, and he was so sure that Minerva was dead, so sure that the house was empty that when he heard the soft patter of footsteps scurry behind him, he jumped out of his skin. 

"I didn't ask you here, Albus," Minerva said lowly. 

Relief flooded through him at the sound of her voice. He lit up his wand and turned slowly. She stood close behind him, her wand aimed at him. She stood, poised ready to fight him, her grey face furrowed with determination and her blood-shot green eyes narrowed. 

"Minerva, I was worried-"

"You have no right to barge your way into my home and start snooping about!" She spat. 

"You can lower your wand," he said. 

"No! Get out. I want to be left alone, haven't I made that clear? Get out, Dumbledore, or I'll throw such a hex at you-"

"Fine," he shrugged. "Throw it at me if it will make you feel better." 

He saw panic and fear flicker across her face. Why? She couldn't possibly be scared of him, she never had been, and she could hold her own in a duel with him. Why should his defeat cause her to panic. And then he felt it again - the emptiness, the lack of thrilling magic. He'd thought Minerva dead because he couldn't sense her, but here she was, very much alive, and yet he still couldn't feel anything. He shuddered as he realised... No, it couldn't be. Could it? Had her magic left her? 

"I mean it. I will! Do not think that I can't fight you, I'm just as powerful as you."

"I don't doubt that you could, usually," he said slowly. "But, I don't think that you can tonight." 

"What do you mean?" 

"My dear," he said softly. "I know."

"Know what?" 

"For nearly forty years, I've felt your magic as familiar as my own. I came here tonight because I could no longer sense it. I thought that you were dead, Minerva."

She slowly lowered her wand. As she let out a long, resigned breathe, it slipped from her hand and clattered softly to the floor. "I can't get anything past you, can I?" She whispered. "Now that you know my great shame, will you leave?" 

"No," he shook his head. "I can't leave you defenceless-" 

"I'm not defenceless!" She cried hotly. "I don't need to rely on my magic to-"

"It's true," he said calmly. "It's true that you do not rely on your magic as others do. But, Minerva, you do need it to protect yourself. Even hidden up here, you could still find yourself in danger at any moment."

Minerva scoffed. "I don't care."

"But I do," he retorted. "And so does Molly and Poppy. They care a great deal. Now, I can see that you have destroyed half the house, so where are you living? I should like to sit down for a moment." 

Minerva knew that it was a ruse to inspect her living conditions but since he'd already learned one of her great secrets, she knew that she wouldn't be able to deter him from his task. Shoulders slumped, she pushed past him and lead him to the back of the house to the sitting room she'd bickered with Arthur in. Luckily, this room had remained largely untouched, save for a few broken wall-lamps. She sat down before the dying fire and took her full tumbler from the tabletop. "If you want a drink, you'll have to get your own glass. I can't summon one anymore," she mumbled defeatedly. 

"Arthur mentioned your drinking." 

"I'm sure that he did," she shrugged nonchalantly. "I am no longer your student, Albus. You cannot scold me." 

He sat beside her. "It has been a long time since I was able to scold you, my dear. But I can be concerned."

She rolled her large green eyes. "Christ, Albus. I'm an adult. An adult who is suffering more pain than the average human being feels in a lifetime. If I have my own methods to combat it, then I shall do them. You of all people, should not blame me for it." 

"Why me especially?"

"Because you are the one that started it." 

Hanging his head, Albus mumbled: "Very well," and he knew that he had no choice but to drop the subject. 

Silence settled between them and for the first time since Eleanor's death, Albus was able to fully survey Minerva. The change in her was sudden and harsh; her face was grey, devoid of any youthful glow and the hollows of her cheeks consumed her face. Her pointed chin was more prominent now and her eyes huge and bulging a little in their sockets. Her hair, though pulled back, was scruffy and limp, lacking any shine and streaks of white stood out against the black. She'd lost so much weight; she had always been a willowy woman however, nothing but thin, pale flesh clung to her bones. She looked smaller than ever, drowning in the thin dressing gown which was pulled tightly around her narrow waist. He could feel the anxiety course through her and he could see the effects of it; ruthless and merciless. She seemed like a stranger to him and he was sure that nobody would recognise her, save those who loved and knew her most. She held no remnants of the steadfast, resilient woman she had once been and Albus didn't know why it shocked him so. Of course she was altered, of course she wasted away to skin and bone - her daughter was dead. The child she'd longed for, the child she thought she would never have, was gone. 

He watched her stare absently into the fire, her lips tightly pressed together, only parting ever so slightly every time she took a sip of her drink. He wondered whether it was really an issue, the drinking. Perhaps Arthur was so surprised to find Minerva so unraveled that he had over-exaggerated. Albus wouldn't blame it; it was a shock to realise that even the great, impervious Minerva McGonagall reached her limits and used a very common, human thing to help her. Who could blame her for doing what she could to ease her pain? She deserved a way out of it, every now and then, as they all did and if this was her method for doing so, then who was he to judge? She was a sensible woman, proud and forthright, so surely she could be trusted to her own devices? 

"Have you eaten today, Minerva?" Albus asked, casting another worried glance across her thin frame. 

Minerva smiled sadly. "You always, in every crisis of my life, mention my eating habits," she said fondly. "Do you remember when my father died? You wouldn't. let me leave your sitting room until I'd eaten something. It didn't matter that I'd lost my father, it didn't matter that I couldn't even think about my hunger - food was your priority." 

"You eat like a bird as it is," he said. "And when you are under any kind of stress, you always forget. But you need to eat, my dear. It will help." 

"It won't," she shook her head. "I can't keep anything down." 

"Are you sleeping upstairs?" 

She frowned at him. "Of course. Where else should I sleep?" And watching his blue eyes roam around the stuffy room, Minerva nodded. "Oh, you think I sleep here. No, I still drag myself to bed at night. Though, it's a waste of time for I barely get a few hours a night." 

"Why do you think that is?" 

"Oh God, Albus!" She laughed bitterly. "Why do you think? My mind is so full! My heart is so broken! I lay in the darkness and all I can see is her face. All I can hear is her voice. And with each passing hour, she slips further and further away from me. The memories are already fading and I just cannot cling onto them, no matter how hard I try. I go through every memory that I can, from the moment she was born to the very last time I saw her. I watch her grow again, I watch her learn, I watch her become a girl, a woman, a wife, a mother. I smile with her, laugh with her, cry with her. I lose myself in times gone by because I cannot live in the present and I cannot face the future, for both mean having to live without her. I can't let her go, Albus. I cannot say goodbye. I would do anything to bring her back; I would lie, cheat and kill if I could." 

Albus nodded, unable to speak for the lump in his throat. Even in her darkest moments, Minerva could be eloquent. Her words were everything he felt and yet, he hadn't been able to string a sentence together to explain. Eleanor had been their own, their greatest treasure and a future without her was bleak. She lit up their lives, she was their world and for the first time, he understood Minerva's hopelessness. What did either of them have to live for, now that Eleanor was gone? 

"I can't lead you out of the darkness," he admitted sadly. "For I cannot find a way out myself. But I can help you with your magic."

"I doubt it. Perhaps Eleanor was the only magic in my life and now that she is gone, that has gone with her." 

"I don't believe that," Albus said. "You are what made Eleanor magical. And I don't just mean in the physical sense. She inherited everything that was good about her from you. If we can bring back your magic, I'm sure that you'll never lose her. Not really."

Minerva sighed deeply. "You're always so sentimental. But, I think I need a little sentiment right now. So, I will give it a try, if you're truly willing to help me?" 

"Of course." 

She arched a brow at him. "And you won't let me down again?" 

"No, my dear. I will not." 


	5. Breakfast With Albus

The light slanted through the window and fell in bright streaks across Minerva's face. With an achy groan, Minerva rolled over, opened her eyes and screamed. 

She hadn't been expected to see Albus sleeping soundly beside her. She remembered him laying with her as she shut her eyes and tried to force herself to sleep but since she couldn't remember falling asleep, she couldn't remember Albus leaving. It had been his idea to sit with her and she'd done it only to placate him. She was sure that it wouldn't work but once again, he had proved her wrong. 

Albus shot up, bewildered and dishevelled. "What is going on?" His eyes darted about the room and upon seeing nothing of any danger, sighed and sank back into his pillow and closed his eyes. "For God sake, Minerva, you frightened the life out of me." 

Minerva frowned in confusion. She sat up and silently thanked God as she realised that she was still dressed and laying on top of the covers, rather than in them with Albus. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to sleep," he mumbled sleepily, turning over as he spoke. "It's barely dawn, the house elves aren't even up yet."

It was then she realised that Albus was still asleep. She poked him hard in the shoulder. "Albus, get up. You aren't at the school." 

Her poke seemed to rouse him from his groggy state and he sat up immediately and swung his legs onto the floor. "I'm sorry, I wasn't quite fully awake," and he turned around and grinned at her. "Good morning, my dear." 

"Good morning?" She quipped. "Why on earth did you sleep here? There are plenty of other beds that I wasn't occupying." 

"I must have fallen asleep when you did. At least you had a decent night, do you feel any better for it?" 

Reluctantly, Minerva nodded. She resented her body for betraying her - she knew that she had only fallen asleep because Albus lay beside her. She always slept well with Albus there and it had been so many years since she'd lost that right. She had hoped that while her heart remained loyal to him, her body might have put up more of a fight and she was annoyed that she still relied on him. She just hoped that she hadn't done anything stupid whilst she slept, like rolling over to be closer to him or throwing her arm around his waist. Thankfully, they had awoken very much apart and still dressed from the night before; she still in her dressing gown and he in the light grey robes he had arrived in. 

"Now, breakfast, I think," he said as he made his way to the door. 

"Albus?" Minerva called out to him. 

He stopped and turned around. "Yes?" 

She paused. She wanted to ask him if he'd had a pleasant night. She wanted to ask him if he slept more soundly with her beside him just as she had. She wanted to know if he still missed her at night and if spending a night together had filled a hole which had been gapping open for years. Nothing felt better than sleeping beside him, even if she couldn't remember doing so. She had screamed because she hadn't been expecting him there but she also screamed because the way her heart lurched terrified her. It was the first real feeling she'd known in such a long time; since Eleanor died her heart had only been filled with pain and loss but for a brief moment, it had felt warm and full. She felt the blood of life rush through her and for just a split second, she felt human again. 

But, she couldn't bare to hear his obvious answer - no, he hadn't felt anything - and so she shook her head. "Just a tea for me please." 

When he left, she pulled herself onto her feet and went to the wardrobe opposite. Turning as she pulled out a dark dress, she stopped, staring at the rumpled bedclothes on the bed and sighed. She could make out the faint outline of his body and she grimaced sadly at the sight of the crumpled pillow beside hers. Every morning, she opened her eyes onto a neatly starched, untouched pillow next to her, for even after all of these years, she still kept to her own side of the bed. She couldn't bare the empty space beside her and so always slept with her back to it, only allowing herself to gaze nostalgically at it in the mornings. Now, seeing it as it had been and how she wished it would be every day, her lips began to tremble. All at once she could tell that his being here was bringing her back to life, albeit slowly, and she didn't want that. How could she allow this man to bring her to life? This man had broken her. This man had walked away and took her soul with him, - was coming back into the world worth the price she would pay? The price of having him with her again, letting him show her a slither of the life she yearned for, only to watch him leave again? 

Downstairs, Albus threw open the thick curtains and let the morning light into the sitting room and adjoining kitchen. As the sun spilled in, he could see the complete state that Minerva was living in. He could ignore the scorched marks of magic which were slashed along the walls but he couldn't ignore the clutter; empty bottles, dirty glasses, paper, photographs were all scattered around the room. It was so unlike Minerva, who followed military order and had everything arranged just so. The sight of the cluttered room, the knowledge that she no longer possessed magic were enough to frighten Albus beyond belief - Minerva was spiralling out of control. She, who always seemed so able, so composed, was suffering more than either Albus, Poppy or Aberforth were. He knew that she internalised everything, he knew that she allowed all of her haunting thoughts to eat away at her but he didn't realise just how far it had gone. Her grief was dominating her, it was stripping everything from her and soon, there would be nothing of Minerva left. 

It would be a difficult task, he knew, to try and reverse the damage. He knew that he would have to get her to talk, to open up properly about what she was feeling and although he was worried about what that would do to Minerva, he was always worried about what it would do to himself. It had been plain in her face for years, ever since Albus left her, that she lived with heartbreak. It was clear for all to see that she still loved him, still longed for him. She might not know that she was doing it but she still looked at him forlornly, her green eyes wide and yearning. Albus wished that she would move on but he was so sure that he had done the right thing that he couldn't go back. But, knowing that Minerva loved him and no doubt he would soon hear that she loved him, would tear at his heart. For, he was still completely and passionately in love with her and he still couldn't look at her without his heart thrumming with devotion and desire. Even now, even as she looked a fright and was barely herself, he loved her. It was too late to do anything about it, he knew - he'd blown up their lives for a reason and he didn't want all of it to have been in vein but he was worried that he might be tempted. 

Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, Albus set about his task. He blindly rummaged through the cupboards and found an old teapot, which he filled and put on to boil. In the ancient, hissing fridge, he found two eggs which seemed fresh enough to eat and a few slices of bread. Otherwise it was empty. Minerva hadn't been over-exaggerating, she really wasn't eating at all. No wonder she'd lost so much weight, no wonder she looked as if a strong breeze would blow her over. She was wasting away, in body and soul, and it was up to Albus to save her. He'd tried to save her so many times before but over time, he'd learned that Minerva was very capable of saving herself. Everyone believed that Minerva relied on Albus in ever way, that his hold over her kept her alive, but they were wrong - she relied on him to love her, but she'd never relied on him for anything else. Perhaps she might have, if all those years ago he hadn't let her down the one moment she needed him. No, since then, she'd relied on herself, using her own self-worth and belief to make sure that she soldiered on, that she could cope with life. He had made the independent, often stubborn side of Minerva and now that it was gone, he was going to have make her find it again. She needed him now, for the first time, to save her from herself. 

"You look completely lost," Minerva said lightly. She was standing in the archway, leaning on the chipped white frame with her arms crossed. "You aren't fooling anybody, Albus. We both know you cannot cook. You often said that was why you took a wife." 

He laughed softly. "Did I? Well, as you can see nothing has changed. I've lived at Hogwarts for too long - I cannot do anything for myself."

"I doubt that you could before Hogwarts," quipped Minerva. She gently pushed past him and cracked two eggs into the frying pan. As the pan heated up, she shuffled past him again to check on the boiling water and lay out two teacups and saucers. "If you aren't going to help, could you stand back a bit? You're getting in my way." 

"I'm sorry, I was just watching you. You know, Minerva, you can do a lot without your magic." 

Minerva scoffed. "I always have been able to do it without my magic. Come on, Albus, you lived with me for nearly two decades, did you not ever notice that I do most household tasks without it?"

"No," he admitted. "I didn't." 

"I've always said that we do not need to lazy simply because we can cast spells." 

"Yes. You have, my dear," he replied absently. He watched, spellbound as Minerva pattered around the kitchen. How had he never noticed? Had he taken her so much for granted that he had let it go over his head? Was there so much more about her that he hadn't noticed? 

"You take my tea and I'll bring your breakfast," Minerva said as she dished up the eggs and quickly buttered a slice of toast. "Go into the dining room, you do remember where it is? Good, go through and I'll follow. It's not too bad in there, just a few cracked walls and broken chairs." 

The dining room was a large square room, sparsely furnished save for a long dining table and eight chairs. The walls were painted a dark blue and the curtains which hung at the long windows matched. Albus sat at the head of the table, smiling warmly at Minerva as she placed his breakfast and tea in front of him. It felt so familiar, to have breakfast with Minerva, that for a moment he waited for the kiss on his cheek she gave him every morning and shook his head when it did not come. It felt odd to spend so much time with her, to do mundane, daily tasks under the same roof as her and he could feel himself slipping back into old habits, into far-off memories. 

Minerva, seated beside him, took a sip of her tea and upon placing it back onto the saucer, tapped the rim with her finger. She pursed her mouth thoughtfully and said: "Now that we have the light of day, I must have a serious conversation with you. I am still annoyed that you took it upon yourself to come here, unannounced. You know me well enough to know that I do not appreciate that. You are a private man, Albus, so I'm sure that you understand. But, that isn't what we need to discuss - I simply wanted you to know my feelings about that. No, what I wish to say is that I want you to know that you are under obligation to help me."

"I know that. I came because I want to help you, if I can. I'm worried about you, Minerva. Wouldn't you worry about me if our roles were reversed?"

"Of course I would," she said. "But that's different."

"How so?"

'Because I love you,' she thought, but she replied: "It just is." 

"Now, I suspect that your remedy to my matter is going to be a very... sentimental one?"

"Indeed." 

"Very well," Minerva nodded. "And I don't suppose that we could try another way?"

"None that I can think of." He placed his cutlery on the his empty plate. "That was very nice, my dear." 

Minerva smiled. "You are very picky with your eggs. I learned how to cook them how you like very quickly." 

"It was very appreciated."

"Was it?" She sighed deeply and closed her eyes. 

"What's the matter?" 

Her piercing green eyes snapped open, blazing with sorrow and swimming with questions. "I was just thinking - " she waved her hand. "No, it doesn't matter." 

"Go on," he said encouragingly. "If I can help you at all, you must speak your mind. I'm certain that is the only way we'll be able to resolve your magical issues." 

She stared at his face and saw in the lines around his eyes and mouth, the grief he would not speak of. She knew that he was reeling from Eleanor's death as she was and yet he hadn't mentioned it - no doubt to help Minerva. What she wanted to ask might add to his load, it might resurrect feelings and memories that he chose to ignore. Or perhaps, he didn't ignore them at all because they held no value to him. Perhaps he'd decided that there was no reason to keep them. Minerva didn't know what was worse - the knowledge that she might cause him more woe with her questions, or the realisation that she didn't because he no longer cared enough. 

"Did I ever make you happy?" She asked softly. "In all our years together, did I ever make you completely happy?" 

"Yes, you did," he nodded. "I'm sorry that you even have to ask that. I'm sorry that I didn't do enough to tell you at the time." 

"Good. I should hate to think that you were completely miserable for all of those years," Minerva mumbled, turning her face from him. She stood. "Well, I best clear this away," she leaned over him, took his plate and cup with her own and hurried out into the kitchen. 

Throwing the dirty dishes into the sink, Minerva let out a sharp breath and ran her fingers through her dark hair. Her cheeks were burning and her heart was fluttering. Did she regret even asking him? Was his answer worse than the unknown? Knowing that she had managed to make him happy, at some point in their marriage, was like a knife to the heart - what had she done wrong? What had she stopped doing, or started, to change that? Throughout their time together, Minerva always thought that she remained largely the same. Oh, she was well aware of her flaws - she could be blunt, brutally so, and ill-tempered at times - but she thought that she always showed Albus how devoted she was to him, how adored him was, how cherished and loved he was. 

She wondered if she'd grown cold over the years and that had pushed Albus away. She wondered if she'd done enough to show him how she felt about him. What if she hadn't? What if she had been incapable of showing anyone how much she loved them? 

What if Eleanor had died not knowing how much her mother loved her? 


End file.
